Waiting For You
by Cascading Rainbows
Summary: She waits for the day when she can see him again.


**Waiting for You**

Her loneliness is painful.

She tries to stifle the aching in her heart, but it's impossible. Controlling this kind of hurt cannot be done.

She glances at Grace, who sits with her legs spread out wide and her frilly, purple skirt then prods, "Keep reading, sweetie."

Grace hesitates before she continues unsteadily. "I sat tere with Sawwy. We sat…thewe, we two. And I said, 'How I wish we had someting to do!'"

Grace stares at the large black letters in front of her, so then she prods, "Grace? Keep reading."

The four-year-old turns to look up at her mother. "Mommy? When is Daddy coming home?"

She gazes back at her, her brow creased. She's been asking that question too many times. "I don't know, sweetie." A pause. "Why don't you keep reading your book? I'll be over there." Grace nods sadly, but she reads aloud by herself, one hand raking through her curly brown hair. She looks at her daughter for a moment, and she rises up from her chair to wander over to the fireplace's mantle.

Pictures line up neatly along the mantle, and tears threaten to fall down as she examines the photos. There are some of them when they are young and happy, sixteen or so. Others depict them after their marriage.

She spots one of her personal favorites. Forlornly, she examines it, and, despite herself, she laughs. It's an old picture, taken several years ago. It brings back memories.

"_I'll take the picture, guys," Dan offers. He whips out his impressive Nikon camera. "Come on, I'm your little brother."_

_She glances at Ian, who merely shrugs. "Go ahead," he responds to Dan, and he tightens his grip around her waist._

"_Yes!" Dan pumps his fist. _

_He squats down, drawing the camera near his eye, and she tugs at her white dress self-consciously. Dan begins to back up and says, "Okay. On three. One, two…"_

_While he's backing up, he bumps into Sinead, who was one of the few that were invited to the ceremony, and goes sprawling on the ground. Dazed, he jumps right back up and continues, a bit stunned, "…Three."_

_She and Ian can't help but laugh._

_Dan clears his throat before hobbling over and thrusting the camera to Ian. "'Welcome," he grunts before limping away._

_She leans over to see, but closes her eyes and brings her hand to her face when the photo appears. "Oh, goodness, Dan." She looks at her husband. "You know that we can't keep this, right?"_

"_Oh, we're keeping this. It has some…nice camera angles going on." Ian grins. Struggling to find the right words to describe it, he manages, "It's very…classic vintage."_

_She snorts. "Right. Classic vintage."_

Half of the picture is of the tile floor, and the top half features the couple's waists. Their faces are cut off, and only slivers of their chins peek through the side of the picture. She smiles before setting it down and picking up another one.

This one depicts them at age twenty-seven, when they were deciding on baby names. Oh, what an ordeal that was.

"_Catherine," he suggests. "Catherine Kabra sounds fine to me." He writes down the name on the blank sheet of paper in his slanted cursive, then sets the paper back down on their bed. _

_She's lying sideways on the bed and has to tilt her head at an angle to properly inspect his skinny writing. After reading the name, she shakes her head. "That n-name's so British. I say…Emily. Emily Kabra. Come on. That's perfect." She proceeds to put that down on their list as well._

"_No. Lydia." He pulls the list toward himself and writes it down._

"_Pamela."_

"_Eugenie."_

"_Amanda."_

"_Evelyn."_

"_Quinn."_

"_Kate."_

"_Grace. That's perfect." She crosses out all the other names written and circles the last name. She looks satisfied with herself, but suddenly a thought strikes her. "And I thought her last name was going to be Cahill. To keep with the Madrigal tradition."_

_He considers. "But I'm not a Madrigal-I'm a Lucian." _

_Ian looks frustrated. "But 'Grace Cahill' is the name of your late grandmother. Isn't that a bit odd?" _

_She closes her eyes for a moment. "That's. The. Whole. Point."_

_"Oh." His cheeks stain red, and, slowly, the bright tint seeps away._

"_We're calling her Grace."_

_Defeated, he nods his head. "Grace is fine."_

In the photo, she holds up the list triumphantly, pointing eagerly at the circled name. In the background, Ian exasperatedly lowers his head. She looks so happy in that picture.

A happiness that has faded away.

She picks up another photo. It's one of when they were younger, both sixteen years old, during their first date. Ian had tried to convince her into letting him take a picture of her, but she'd refused, although not for long.

She shakes her head. She had taken Ian for granted back then. She'd never really known how much he meant to her.

What a fool she was.

"_No, let me—come on, please, no let me—let me take one picture!" Ian pleads._

_She shakes her head stubbornly. "No. What kind of silly idea is that?_

"_Please." He stares at her with his amber eyes, and she stares right back._

_She wonders how long it will be until she cracks._

_One second, two seconds, three, four, f—_

"_Okay, f-fine." She hates herself for giving in so easily._

"_Great." He outstretches the camera in front of him and steadies it so that both of their faces will be included in__the picture. "One, two, three." He turns to face her, tilting his face. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"_

_He examines the outcome and gives her a glare. She knows he's not serious, though._

"_H-Hey," she counters, "you never said that I had to look _good _in that photo."_

The picture consists of one half showing Ian, flashing one of his rare smiles into the camera and the other half depicting her. Half of her face is covered by her auburn hair sliding inthe way. Her face is buried in Ian's shoulder, and the only visible parts of her face are part of her cheek, much fuller than it is now, one striking, green eye, much brighter than it is today, and the tip of her crooked smile.

She can't help but think to herself that she looks ten times more beautiful in that picture than right now. Self-consciously, she lifts up her right hand to graze her pale, sunken cheek. Her brown hair is limp and lifeless, and she suspects that crow's feet are forming at her eyes.

She wonders how Ian will feel about leaving a pretty young woman and returning to an ugly one.

"Mommy!" Grace yells, waving the picture book high in the air, breaking her reverie. "I'm done!" She throws the book down.

"All right, darling, read the next book in the pile," she responds absentmindedly.

Grace furrows her brow. "But I don't _want_ to. I want _Daddy_."

She closes her eyes and slowly massages her temples, still facing the mantle, her back to her daughter. "Daddy won't be back in a while, sweetheart. You have to wait patiently."

Grace's face turns a bright red, and her jade green eyes glaze with tears. There's a sickening pause, and she knows what's coming next. "I've waited patiently for two years, Mommy!" Grace yells, placing her balled fists on her hips. "_Why won't Daddy come home_?"

She turns to face her. "Grace, dear, don't yell," she reprimands.

It is the wrong move.

"Mommy, I _want_ to yell!" Grace shouts. "It's because Daddy's not here yet! You told me that he'd be back soon! _Soon_ means in a day! He's been gone _too long_, Mommy! _Bring him back_!"

She swallows hard and almost moves to go and comfort her daughter, who is sobbing violently now, but turns back and silently picks up one last picture.

It's framed in gold. Ian is grinning, and she's smiling, too. But her smile is much smaller. She's wearing a baby blue dress with a small blue pin pulling a lock of hair back, and he's clad in a crisp black suit. People are bustling about in the background, while others recline in seats. His gate is seen on the right side.

The gate where he left.

"_I'll be back," he promises, holding both of her hands._

"_When will you be back?" she returns softly. Tears spill from her eyes. "I can't raise Grace on my own." Her face turns red, and she begins to cry. She leans against his chest. "Don't go, Ian."_

"_I have to," he says. "I'll be back soon, so that we can raise little Grace together."_

_He gives her one last kiss, lightly, on the forehead. With one last pitiful wave, he takes his luggage and disappears. _

It's been two years since he's gone. Two painful years.

Grace is right; "soon" isn't two years. He's been gone too long. Much too long.

She runs over to Grace, her Grace, and pats her on the back as she sobs. Soon, tears well up in her own eyes.

She stares out the window. Clouds waltz across the blue. The beautiful, clear sky beckons.

"Come back soon," she whispers. "Please." And, with Grace in her arms, she waits.

She waits for the day when she can see him again.

* * *

><p><em>The purpose of this oneshot was to remake a cliché. In this case: Amian. <em>

_It's assumed that the main girl in this is Amy, and it takes place after Ian left. The reason for his leaving is open to interpretation. I have a specific idea, but it's not that provoking or anything. If you want to know, PM me or ask in a review._

_Thanks so much to __**Syberian Quest/Sy **__for betaing this! She even said that Amy and Ian were IC, which is a relief. :) Also, __**Jamie's Dream/Jamie**__ gets credit for the second part of this sentence: Pictures line up neatly along the mantle, and tears threaten to fall down as she examines the photos. Thanks, Jamington!_

_Flames are expected, as is constructive criticism. I accept both. Praise is loved. Please don't favorite without reviewing! *glares* Some of you do that._

_Thanks for reading, everyone! _

_~Cascading Rainbows_


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